If it looks like a spider bite, and hurts like a spider bite, then by golly it must be...

So we're in the fourth day of the fourth month of 2011 and have already completed our THIRD visit to the ER. Are we on a roll or what! Thursday evening, I notice what looks like a pimple, a whitehead, on Tate's tummy. Weird. I keep an eye on it and the next night, whitehead is gone but it looks a little bigger. Huh. I clean it and add some antibiotic ointment. Saturday, um, it's kinda getting bigger. More ointment. Sunday, I hit up the Queen of Medical Second Opinions, my next door neighbor, who convinces me this is in fact a spider bite and to keep an eye on it. That night, I add ice to my regime of ointment, draw a circle around where it's spread and promptly make an appt with the pediatrician for the AM. Hey there, Doctor, my son has a spider bite and I need some medicine. "Mrs. Smith, I know you don't want to hear this but that's no spider bite. I see three or four of these a week and they all come in saying they have a spider bite. What this is, is.... MRSA". *Gasp* WHAT!!!???!!! MRSA?? Isn't that where people have to walk around wearing masks? Isn't that uber contagious? Isn't that...Gross? Off to Brenner's Children's Hospital we go. At this point, I have my own parking spot and they greet me by name. Two hours, a dose of "happy juice" and a small surgery later, we're outta there. By far, the most hysterical trip to the ER EVER. They seriously have got to bottle up this happy juice for parents. Surely it's available on the black market. And I wanna find it. Tate was trying to climb over on Roger's back like a spider monkey (no spider pun intended). We convinced him he actually was on Roger's back even though he clearly was not. He looked at me with glazed eyes and said, "Are you the doctor. Get me outta here." According to the docs, he was singing them his ABCs and repeatedly saying "I"m not gonna look, I'm not gonna look" as they were cutting. He then sat straight up, wobbled a bit, and proclaimed his love for soup. I seriously need to get my hands on this stuff. Off we go - Drat! I don't have any cash for parking! (remembering the last visit where I had to put a $20 in the auto pay machine and receive the change in ALL QUARTERS) Roger, smart one that he is, seeks out the vending machines where sure enough, he finds an ATM. He calms me down over the $2.75 surcharge (I hate ATM surcharges and hate even more that people actually pay them instead of using their own ATMs) At check out, the nice lady asks if we have our parking tickets. Puzzled, I told her I left it in my car. Turns out, they now validate parking. SCORE! 'Bout damn time! Now that I consider ourselves "pros in the ER", I'm so super excited about this! Yes, that's sad. Till next time, friends.

E.R. The Sequel

The day was Wednesday, Februray 9th. Just after dinnertime. In the mail, was a bill from Owen's visit to the ER last month. $515 due. Roger and Owen are playing soccer so it's just me and Tate hanging out. It's bathtime so I take the bandaid off of his toe that I put on the night before after his bath. It looked like he had a small bruise on his big toenail and it was bothering him. Bandaid off. Infected toe on! Probably one of the most nastiest things I've had to deal with (thus far) as a mother. I make a quick call to the neighbor for a second opinion. She suggests I call the on call nurse. Thank goodness I did - I watch the toe turn purple and fester as I am on the phone with the nurse. Redness infection is creeping up his foot. Guess where we're headed! Roger and Owen head home and I quickly ship Owen next door for a sleepover with Nini. TGFGN (Thank God for Great Neighbors!) Five hours later, antibiotic via IV, draining of nasty toe gunk, and $7 of quarters in change from the stupid unmanned parking exit, we are out of there. Waiting for bill number two and praying this will keep us satisfied for the time being.

A Dented Head

So today I really felt Parentally Challenged. Truly. Schools were closed due to the icy weather so I piled the kids into the car to take Owen to the YMCA. After a pretty treacherous drive, we finally reach our destination only to find out it was closed. Argh! Lesson 1: Check YMCA delays/closings depsite the fact that every single correspondence from them boasts about availablility on snow days! I decide Owen will have to come to the office with me so we trek back to the house to fill up on supplies: Nintendo DS, video games, DVDs, books, crayons, notebooks. Next stop, Mudpies, to drop off Tate which opened 2 hours late. Back to my work where I make Owen promise to keep his trap shut and play his game so we could all get our work done. I don't know how many warnings later, but I finally decided to make him a tent to hide in so he could play his game. Quietly. I secured the blanket over the ledge with two heavy paperweights. One was a heavy cube celebrating my 5 year anniversary with the bank 5 years ago. This lasted...3 minutes? As he's exiting the tent, blanket pulls down along with paperweights. On his head. Blood. Blood everywhere. And a deep puncture in my baby's head. Lesson 2: Don't use paperweights to secure play tents to keep your child quiet at the workplace. Ever. Just don't do it. Trip to the ER, vomitting in the waiting room, two CAT scans, Owen is perfectly fine. Just a little dented now. Now here's the rub. The YMCA opened at 9. One half hour after we toured their icy parking lot. One half hour would've saved us blood, ER visit, CAT scan, mommy's heart breaking, hospital bills. And a dented head.

Elf on the Shelf

A coworker was talking about The Elf on the Shelf tradition and how this was the first year his family was trying it. Every night, your elf magically flies to the North Pole to report to Santa about your behavior that day and when you wake in the morning, he's found a new place to sit to keep his eye on you. I thought, this would be perfect for the two boys, especially Tate who would truly see the magic. I didn't think Owen would even give a flip, to be honest. Boy was I wrong. Owen keeps his eye closely on Tate to make sure Tate doesn't touch Buddy (that's the name they came up with) lest Buddy would lose his magic. "You can't touch him, Tate! He'll lose his magic and won't be able to fly!" Any bad behavior by Tate has Owen immediately reporting to Buddy, "Tate is on the naughty list today!" I've even caught him having whispering conversations with the elf, telling him what he wants for Christmas. I pray Roger and I already know about these little "secrets" so we can get it taken care of - don't want any surprises! The book that comes with the elf, shares different ideas about how you can be good, including a picture of kids praying. Tonight, as we sat down to begin our spaghetti dinner, Owen says (while glancing at the elf out of the corner of his eye), "Don't you think we should pray first?" "Why yes, that's a great idea," I say as we fold our hands and prepare to say grace. He waits a couple of minutes and asks if he can pray for someone who has died? Roger and I look at each other, "Of course". "I think I'm going to pray for your Grandma, Mommy: Dear God, please get Mommy's Grandma out of heaven real soon!" It took all we had not to choke on our laughter. He had his eyes closed, his head bowed, and his hands folded and was praying with such sincerity. I think Buddy will have good things to say tonight when he reports to St. Nick.

Hellooo, ladies!

As I was picking Tate up from daycare the other day I found a strange coat in his cubby with his name written on the tag. It definitely wasn't his. I took it to the teacher and explained, "I don't know how Tate's name got on this coat because it isn't is. Everything of Tate's is clearly marked 'Owen Smith'."
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Tate sauntered into the nursery at church and exclaimed, "Helllooo, ladies!" to the two women who care for the kids. I immediately made a mental note to talk to Roger about what he's teaching this child. The next day, Tate finds Owen's pirate hat in the closet and gets really excited. "Helllloooo, ladies!" he screams. It takes me over a week and the realization of his new pirate phase to finally understand he's actually saying, "Hellooo, mateys!" Oh.

Tate - The Medical Phenomenon

Seems there's always some sort of medical drama going on with Tate. The symptom du jour? Diarrhea. And lots. of. it. Currently, we are rounding out at day number 21. Now, am I frustrated that my little one is so pitifully sick and dehydrated and pathetically weak? Nope. I'm frustrated because after day 17, the doctors are still telling me to wait it out. I'm frustrated because he can't stay at daycare after three bad diapers and isn't welcome back the second day, causing me to shuffle my schedule at work or find someone to watch him. I'm frustrated because nothing we are doing seems to be helping. Tate, on the other hand, is happy as a clam. No fever. Perfectly hydrated. The boy has somehow managed to GAIN weight. A medical phenomenon. He's also learned rather quickly how to play the sick card. Even when it makes absolutely no sense. "Mommy!.....Mommy!! I want to brush my teeth NOW!" "No, Tate, let's wait until after your bath." "But I'M SICK!" The child is two.

We've ruled out parasites, salmonela, and e coli. Next on the agenda, allergy testing or checking for some other random gastrointestinal disorder. The doctors must love seeing us come in the door. Cha-ching!$! And meanwhile, the diapers keep filling, and filling, and filling....

Milk Money

So Kindergarten is going well, although we are having a hard time disciplining Owen and his milk money. After a long long LONG discussion last time about going back to the "buffet line", we made it clear (or so I thought) that he was only to buy milk each day for lunch. Lord knows I pack him more than enough food. I sign into his account to find he's been buying both breakfast AND chips along with his milk. Really, child!? "Owen, why did you buy breakfast today?" Look of panic and silence...."Um, how did you know that?" "I'm your MOTHER, I know everything!" God... did I really just say that? When did I turn into my mother? Next thing you know, I'm going to be telling the lad to go for a brisk walk. Another look at his account today and he has bought chips along with his milk the last two days. This boy is in trouble! I'm also foreseeing the future of an unorganized kid. And those who know me know this is killing me. He's already lost his daily binder he's supposed to take to and from school along with his library book he got from school last week. Please don't let him be "that" kid. I will not be able to handle it. There IS one cute thing he did this week. Thursday night, he says he wants to make a card for each of the TWENTY FOUR kids in his class. He asks me for index cards and crayons and I set him up at the dining room table thinking this is never going to happen. He proceeds to draw a picture of each kid in his class, puts them in his bookbag and hands them out on Friday. Now, does that make up for the chips at lunch? Not so much, but it's pretty darn cute...

Kindergarten - The Beginning

So Owen and his Mommy have successfully (I guess that term is relative) survived the first couple days of Kindergarten! Like a good Mommy, I packed Owen a healthy lunch for him in his Iron Man Lunch Box, complete with reusable ice packs to keep his food fresh and cold. Mrs. Kibler, Owen's teacher, had told me instead of sending Owen with milk money each day, it was much easier to fund his "account". Great idea! I send the child to school with a check for $25 - sure to last awhile since it was only for milk each day. And we specified WHITE milk, stay away from the chocolate and strawberry. I'm trying here, people! Roger and I raced to school after his first day, so excited to see how it went. Owen's all smiles, and extremely talkative, telling us all about his day, showing us his bookbag, including his lunch box with - his lunch still in there. "Owen, what did you have for lunch?" "Well, I had a piece of pizza, then I went back and got another piece. Then, they were also having fish sticks, so I had some of those too." *Sigh* "What color milk did you get?" Pause. "White..... and it only had a little bit of sugar in it." Wow. The child thinks the cafeteria is a buffet. There is no telling how much of my $25 I have left in the account.

Wishful Thinking

Owen was having a particularly hard time getting out of bed this morning (Friday). With tired eyes he looked at me and said, "Mommy, can I please just go back to bed for awhile?" "No, not today, but tomorrow (Saturday) you can sleep in as long as you want!" "Really? OK!" Now....how much do you wanna bet?

Owen's Randomness

I finally got Owen interested in brushing my hair last night. Felt so good, he was up until after 9:00. I told him if he brushed it every day, it would look really, really nice. "You'll look so good Yaya will want to kiss you on the lips? And people will see you and say, 'Who's that lady? Who's that lady?'"
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Roger was packing for a business trip to Texas - he'll be gone for four days. Tells Owen to stay out of his suitcase. "Why, cuz you've got pepper spray and a gun in there?"

Graduation from Mudpies!

Owen graduated from preschool on Tuesday. A complete program of poems, songs and pictures. Marching down the aisle of the church to Pomp and Circumstance, dressed in their purple satin caps and gowns. Could not be any cuter.
During one song, while most children were staring straight ahead barely moving their lips, an adorable girl on stage right was seriously getting her groove on. Roger caught it all on videotape, certain we will get some cash or at least an honorable mention on America's Funniest Home Videos. Didn't matter it wasn't even our kid. She wasn't even in his class.
Each child was passed the microphone and told the audience their name and what they wanted to be when they grew up. "My name is Noah. And when I grow up, I want to be a race car driver." "My name is Jasmine, and I want to be a teacher and a mommy." "MY NAME IS OWEN" (said embarrassingly loud) "And when I grow up, I want to be RICH!" Um, did he really just say that? I look at Rog who shook his head, "Nope, he didn't get that from me". I caught the eye of his teacher. "Nope, not me. That's YOUR son." Yes, that's my son.
After the long (incredibly long - an hour and twenty min!?!) ceremony, we got Owen together with his girlfriend Abby Hobson for pictures. I'm fully convinced these shots are going to be a part of the photo collage at their rehearsal dinner when they get married. Yes, I'm serious. So both are posed leaning against the baptism pool on the church stage. Owen pops his head up and his tassle goes flying slow mo into the water. Super Yaya to the rescue ready to dive in. And dive in he did. We quickly left the church hoping no one noticed the wet hair, wet arms, shirt...and pants.
So you think our night was full enough to end there, huh? Not so fast. I need to preface this next part by explaining what happened to me the day before. I went to pick Tate up from daycare and had to bend down to get since he was being particularly obstinate. A loud "Criicck" as well as the look on my face prompted the teacher to ask if I had thrown my back out. Gee, I wish! At least then I would've gotten some Prednisone! But alas, it was merely the crotch of my pants completely splitting at the seam. For real. Lucky for me, I was wearing a sweater which I quickly wrapped around my waste as I shuffled out of school, dragging Taterskins reluctantly behind me. So back to graduation night. Getting pictures outside of our little graduate with Yaya in front of the balloons. Yaya squats and.... "Criick". I think someone is trying to tell us something. And I refuse to believe it has anything to do with eating better. And Roger refuses to believe it has anything to do with drinking beer. We'll just blame it on shoddy craftsmanship. In fact that's exactly what it is. They just don't make things like they used to...
Congratulations to my baby boy. I really am proud of the little man he's becoming. And at the rate we're going, there are bound to be countless opportunities and stories for more posts to blog.

Five years old and a PhD later...

Well Owen's the big "Oh Five" and boy does everyone in his general vicinity know it. He's extremely proud of this accomplishment and I'll admit, so am I. We've all survived the past five years, just barely, and are now looking ahead to.....KINDERGARTEN. I'll admit, he's as emotional as a preteen girl, but he's very athletic and extremely intelligent and a very sweet boy. Aside from general behavioral problems, we've been pretty lucky raising Owen. Tate, on the otherhand, is on his way to getting us a medical degree with all we're going through with him. Pyloric Stenosis, Lactose Intolerance, Acid Reflux & GERD, Pulmonary Aspiration, in addition to the "normal" run-of-the-mill childhood illnesses, all I can say is.... Thank God for my health benefits! The illness du jour is Pulmonary Aspiration. After a visit to the hospital for a swallow test, we learned that Tate literally inhales his drinks instead of swallowing them. Prescription? Thickening his drinks to the consistency of honey. Nasty nasty business. Unfortunately, we're going through all of this as he ascends to his throne as "King of the Terrible 2's". Poor Owen is getting a taste of his own medicine, that's for sure. I'm actually considering sending him overseas and since "no" means the same thing is virtually every language, he'll get along just fine.

Who's the prettiest?

Owen has recently become interested in ballet ever since seeing Mom's Nutcracker. But it's not just the music. It's not just the costumes. He wants to lift the girls. The pretty girls. "I would like to lift them because I like looking at them and their pretty faces." Which prompted the question, "Who is the prettiest girl in your class?" The answer, of course, to no surprise is Piper who he's had a crush on for the past two years. Smart Mommy then asks, "Who's the prettiest girl in this house?" Ha ha, trick question. Response in a whisper: "You, Mommy, but don't tell Juniper".

Pantyhose!

The four year old mind never ceases to amaze me...
Owen was having 'naked time', running around the living room and shaking his booty. "Owen, put your 'naughty bits' away". (That's what we've decided to call the boy's privates. Not sure why to be honest. Sometimes, sounds almost worse than the real thing. But alas, they are now 'naughty bits'.)
"Mommy, it's my PANTYHOSE!". Silence. My wheels are spinning. I realize he is referring to the HOSE in his PANTY'S. Clever, really.
Roger has now informed me, he now refers to it as his LADYBUG. Hmmm... And I thought PANTYHOSE was bad. Now I'm scared...
The four year old mind never ceases to amaze me....

Oh, Owen...

Roger and I went to pick up the boys on Wednesday only to be flagged down by the Preschool Director. "Torva! Roger! Come here! Owen's been telling me some things..." Uh oh... Can't be good. No place to hide. I plaster a smile on my face trying to prepare myself for what she's about to say. "Owen told me this afternoon, 'Ms. Cheryl, I need to speak with you. I'm going to get a sister next September. ' I told Owen, he must be mistaken, 'No, Ms. Cheryl, her name is going to be Tasha.' " Hmmm...

The other week when Nana and Pop Pop came down for a visit, Nana was looking at a class picture of the boys on the fridge. "This picture is so cute but my favorite is still the one of Tate in the damn bucket." Owen steps in: "Nana!!! We've got a damn bucket in our living room, see?" showing her a picture of Tate on our mantel sitting in...well...a damn bucket.

Today we went to Big Lots to pick up some sand buckets for our beach trip with the boys this coming week. I asked Owen if he knew how to make a sand castle. He proceeded to tell me very seriously that you needed WET SAND to make a sand castle. Why yes, how did you know that? Silence. Owen, how did you know you need wet sand to make a sand castle? "I know that because I'm very smart".... Nuf said.

Next came a visit to Golden Corral for lunch. On our way out, we saluted a retired military officer. I asked Owen if he wanted to be a soldier when he grew up. "Well, if I'm a soldier, can I hit someone in the face with a baseball bat?????" Really? That's what you think of when you think of becoming a soldier? No, Owen, you can't hit someone in the face with a baseball bat. "Okay, I'll just hit them in the back, then..." Really??

"Diarrhea, Diarrhea"

So this week was Vacation Bible School for Owen - his first year and he loved it. Each day he had to wear a different colored shirt. They sang songs, learned dances, played games and made crafts. We were given a CD to listen to in the car to learn the songs. After day 2, Owen asked me if we could listen to the "Diarrhea Song" on the way home. Huh? Son, you must be mistaken. Attention was diverted and we moved on. The next morning we were jamming to the Jesus music on the way to daycare. "We worship you..... Hallelujah, Hallelujah!" Only in the backseat, the words were: "We worship you.... Diarrhea, Diarrhea!" Close, Owen, but not quite...
This week was also Spirit Week at school. Monday was Hat Day. Tuesday was Pajama Day and boy did I learn my lesson from last year when he was the only one who didn't show up in his PJs. My concern was the 100 degree weather. But I was sadly mistaken. Now I know - PJs no matter what the temp. Wednesday was Backward's Day. Turns out he was the only one who showed up with his clothes on backwards. Guess you can't win for trying. We got strange looks from other parents - I wanted to say: "Hey, it's Backward's Day. Who's the one who's Backwards, now? Huh? Huh? We've got Spirit, damnit, and we're proud of it!" So what should we do next year? Hide in the bushes and wait to see whether the other classmates are participating? Sounds like a plan...

No shortage

There is no shortage of embarrassing moments in the Smith household. Take Sunday, at church. I thought the congregation unknowingly singing two different hymns was funny but that was before Owen took his position in front during the Children's Message. Pastor Bill's message was that it was OK to be scared. He mentioned a large tree which had fallen during a storm which had scared him. His message was complete with rhetorical questions - of which Owen answered every....single...one. The youth group was to set out on their mission trip after the service. Pastor Bill mentioned he hoped they took care climbing ladders to fix the roofs of houses they were going to be working on, so as not to fall and "break their necks". Owen loudly proclaimed, "How will they keep their head on?" The entire room erupted. Tears were rolling down my face I was laughing so hard. Pastor Bill ended by saying, "Looks like I need to wrap this thing up!" Only Owen.
This episode was after Owen proclaimed to Nana on the phone that "Mommy was sitting on YaYa". Yes, I guess I was sitting on YaYa - I was trying to wrangle my way onto the computer and sat on his lap to gain access. Innocent, but embarrassing.
But this, tops it all... Sunday afternoon.... Father's Day.... Relaxing day outside splashing in the pool. Owen leave us to go inside and use the facilities. Roger and I and Kristen are preoccupied with Tate who's playing Naked Soccer in the front yard. "Mommy". "Mommy!" I look up to the porch. Owen is bent over, naked as a jaybird, showing us his Heinie Hole. "Is all the poop off!!?????!!!" Yes, neighborhood. That is my son up there showing you his "where the sun don't shine". And yes, Tate is still playing his Naked Soccer. Gotta love it... gotta love it.

Attention

We need to learn to stop encouraging Owen. Once he knows we're amused, he continues his actions, ten-fold. He LOVES the attention, and will do most anything to keep it. I'll admit, he's got it tough with a brother like Tate who attracts all sorts of smiles, tickles and "coo-chi-coos". It takes me 15 minutes to leave the daycare from all the people stopping me in the hallway, asking for Tate's autograph. His fans surround us as we break our way to the car, pushing and plodding our way through the swooning admirers. But I digress, and just proved my point - sorry Owen.